


Young and Beautiful

by RainWillMakeTheFlowersGrow



Series: Lyrically Inspired [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, anxiety/insecurities, young and beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainWillMakeTheFlowersGrow/pseuds/RainWillMakeTheFlowersGrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he's alone sometimes Enjolras isn't as confident as he seems. Sometimes he worries that he wont always be enough to keep Grantaire around forever.</p>
<p>Inspired by Lana Del Ray's 'Young and Beautiful'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young and Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Lately most songs I've listened to I've somehow been able to relate to les mis in some (usually obscure) way. Since I've been listening to the Great Gatsby soundtrack heaps and especially love this song, while listening to 'young and beautiful' this idea kind of started to form in my mind about how sometimes Grantaire's constant compliments and praises might make Enjolras a little insecure so I wrote a thing about it. Hopefully it's not too corny....

Sometimes, rarely but sometimes, Enjolras gets home from work before Grantaire. The solitary hours used to be familiar and welcome for Enjolras, at some point in time he would have relished a quite evening like this, but not any more. Now, when Enjolras enters their empty house he feels his heart sink - he knows himself well enough to know that it’s at these times, when his brain has left work and the rallies and meetings have been organized for the day, his mind is left free to linger on other things. And if Grantaire isn’t there his thoughts tend to linger in darkness.

 

Enjolras lets himself into the dimness of their house and knows immediately that Grantaire isn’t home yet. He closes the door softly behind himself calling out Grantaire’s name anyway, just in case. There are no lights on anywhere, though, and no answer issues from any of the rooms.

The apartment in cloaked in an almost tangible gloom, darkness trapped in by the sheets of heavy rain that pour down from the blackened sky outside each window. The sound of rain tapping against the glass echoes through the room as Enjolras stands gazing out at the torrential force of the storm while it soaks the earth outside. He runs a hand through his own dampened hair before chucking his bag onto the armchair closest to him and kicking off his wet shoes.

He wanders down the hall towards their bedroom whilst peeling off layers of clothing, dampened by the journey from the car to the building. It takes him a while to find relatively clean clothes amongst the mess of garments that cover every surface of their room. They really need to do the washing. Eventually he decides to just keep the t-shirt he had already been wearing, the jacket mostly protected it anyway, and pulls on a grey hoody that’s clean enough to be worn around the house. Neither of them is really sure who’s hoody it originally was, they’ve had it for so long both wearing it when ever he pleased. It’s covered in flecks of multi coloured paint thanks to Grantaire and the rims of both sleeves are stretched and holey from Enjolras’ fingers worrying the material whilst he studies. Deciding on dinner he heads to the kitchen.

Poking through the items in the fridge doesn’t get him very far, he can’t even be bothered heating up the leftovers from last night, so Enjolras quickly gives up on that idea. He knows Grantaire will probably fuss over him about it later but, Enjolras thinks with a smile as he closes the fridge, if he’s truly honest with himself that’s not exactly a punishment.

Instead he makes himself a cup of hot tea and flicks channels on the TV while he waits for it to cool down enough to drink. Most of the channels have been knocked out by the weather and nothing on the ones that are working is particularly appealing. He glumly presses the power off button as he takes a sip of his tea.

As soon as the warm liquid hits his taste buds he cringes. The strong spices are too bitter in his mouth and it feels like his teeth are suddenly covered in fur. Not surprising since he doesn’t exactly like this tea, he knew that when he put the tea bag in, but the heady scent of cinnamon and clove is always so warm and comforting that he makes it for himself regardless just for the smell. He sets the cup aside and lets his eyes wander over the books that are crammed messily into the bookshelf. Mentally, he ticks each of them off according to his mood: read too recently, too serious, too theological, too many mistakes made by author, boring, insipid, downright depressing… none of them are enticing and he sighs in defeat once more.

Finding himself back in the bedroom, Enjolras collapses onto the bed. He stares at the ceiling above him for a long time, shadows creeping in to darken more and more of the room before his eyes as what little sun was able to stab it’s rays through the dark clouds eventually sets. His thoughts set with it.

The small crack in the corner of the roof reminds him of the cracked riddled walls of the ancient café Musain and his mind turns to the meeting they’d had there a few days before. Enjolras spent a lot of the meeting talking, perhaps too much judging by Courfeyrac’s constant and pointed yawns, but he hadn’t been able to help himself, he had been feeling so inspired, so fired up. Afterwards, Grantaire caught his eye. He hadn’t spoken up once during the meeting, no argument at all, and now that Enjolras looked at him the other man’s expression was strangely intense, seeming to mirror the fire that Enjolras felt. That intensity stayed with them for the rest of the night until they had found themselves collapsed and tangled together on the bed as they tried to regain their breath.

Grantaire had leant on his arm facing Enjolras as he caressed artistic fingers down his sternum and marveled at ‘his beauty’ in husky and almost reverent tones. At the time it made Enjolras glow inside as he listened to this lover’s soft words and felt the gentle pressure of his deft hands. Now, without the reassuring presence of their author, those words were haunting.

It had always been part of their dynamic – Grantaire using Enjolras’ looks to make jibes at him (it took Enjolras years to figure out that this was Grantaire’s way of flirting with him) but as they got closer he used those words and those compliments in a different way. Now, Grantaire most often used them when he was feeling particularly salacious or as an excuse for the way people (particularly women) reacted to Enjolras. Even in their most intimate moments Grantaire would make comments about his lithe body, soft lips or perfectly deep-blue eyes. Of course this wasn’t all that unusual, Enjolras admired the physical aspects of Grantaire as well, the way his skin was perfectly pale in contrast with his dark hair and his body was so naturally toned and strong under Enjolras’ hands, and would say as much to him. He just wished it didn’t feel so much like Grantaire relied on his appearance to love him.

No matter how alive and strong he felt now, Enjolras knew he wouldn’t stay the same, wouldn’t _look_ the same, forever.  At some point his skin wouldn’t be so smooth or flawless, his curls wouldn’t be so thick, maybe his eyes wouldn’t be so bright. Would Grantaire still love him then?

Now, Enjolras can stand in front of a crowd, channeling their enthusiasm and passion into words that welcome change. He’s experienced what it’s like to light up a mob and join them in protests and in rallies. Each time, no matter how reluctant, Grantaire was there, somewhere amongst the claustrophobic press of bodies, with one eye on him, smiling. And after an entire day of protest, which sometimes involved a lot more riot action than expected, they still had energy for other things. The energy isn’t never ending, though, at some point they won’t even be able to last an hour of rallying. Would Enjolras’ appeal fade without his seemingly endless drive?

Summer nights spent in Jehan and Courfeyrac’s flowered and fairy lit garden, when all the Amis were too hot to sleep, saw them lying side by side on the grass. Grantaire would drink, Enjolras would debate with any friend drunk enough to argue with him and the whole time they’d brush hands, interlacing and playing with each other’s fingers almost absentmindedly. Those nights lasted into the early hours of the morning, the dark sky already blending into lighter blues, pinks and burnt oranges as the stars faded. Maybe the memories of those times wouldn’t be enough to keep Grantaire when Enjolras was too old to keep his eyes open for more than a few hours at a time.

All the times that Enjolras’ was on enough of a high from the success of a rally or graduations or end of exams to go out into the city and do the things Grantaire did led to crazy, haze riddled nights. Drinking, making out in dark alley ways, Enjolras managing to sneak small amounts of cash into the hands of street side beggars while Grantaire created street art on the lower corners of crumbling buildings. They’d weave their way through crowds of late night shoppers complaining loudly about the blatant consumerist society they lived in, laughing drunkenly at their own hilarious comments (things they’d cringe at later on, when the headaches cleared and they had time to remember the more embarrassing details of the night). They were always wild but on those nights they were wild in a way that didn’t involve intellectual arguments, politics or making a stand, they were wild in the same way the other young people their age were.

At some point all of that would fade and they’d both become old. The beauty would leave their bodies along with their vitality and youth. They’d only have their minds and their ideas, ideas which already clashed often enough while they’re still young. Grantaire has become one of the most important things in Enjolras’ life and if there was one thing Enjolras would never let happen it would be being torn away from Grantaire. He would drag him to the afterlife along side him if he had to. But in those solitary hours of the evening, alone in their darkened house, when his brain was going into overdrive and his thoughts cascaded over one another too quickly, Enjolras worried that perhaps Grantaire would one day lose interest in him. Maybe one day he wouldn’t be able to hold onto the man who’d become so important in his life because Grantaire no longer loved him.

‘Babe?’ the familiar voice echoes through the quiet house, waking Enjolras from his restless thoughts. He’s probably called a few times since he appeares in the doorway to the bedroom only seconds later. ‘Hey. whatch’ya doing there?’ Grantaire asks looking at Enjolras, still spread out on his back in the middle of their bed.

‘Just thinking,’ is the dismissive reply. Grantaire smiles fondly as he makes his way over to the other man.

‘You know, even brilliant minds like yours need a rest sometimes,’ he says before placing a quick kiss on Enjolras’ temple. ‘When’d you get home?’

‘Lateish. Around 7, but you weren’t here,’ Enjolras replies as Grantaire lays down next to him.

‘I know,’ the other replies with a slight smile, ‘I got caught up.’ Now that he’s lying beside him, Enjolras can smell the scent of earthy clay on him and see the light layer of dust that clings to his hair. He’s been sculpting again, Grantaire is always happiest when he finds within himself the perfect idea for a sculpture. He has always liked using his hands. ‘You had dinner?’

‘No…’

‘Enjolras,’ Grantaire groans, ‘just because I’m not here to force you does not mean you can go skipping meals,’ Enjolras can’t help but smile as he pulls himself closer to Grantaire and winds his arms around his waist. ‘What are you grinning at?’ he asks warily, though also now smiling.

‘You,’

‘Well that’s encouraging,’ comes the sarcastic response, complete with eye roll, before Enjolras kisses his lips lightly. Grantaire responds by pulling him in closer, arms curling around him possessively, as he deepens the kiss. When they break apart Enjolras watches his eyes as they run over his face, capturing the details. ‘You look tired,’ Grantaire says softly as he smooths back a stray curl of blond hair from Enjolras’ face, ‘Come on, gorgeous, let’s go get you some dinner and then get you to bed,’ he steals another quick kiss before getting to his feet and pulling the blond behind him.

Enjolras’ can feel the layer of dried clay as he holds Grantaire’s hand, and it’s familiar warmth. When R’s with him he feels lighter, like Grantaire’s his own personal sun. Those lonely insecurities and anxieties melt easily from his mind. Of course Grantaire will still love him when he’s no longer young and beautiful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D
> 
> (If you're also reading my other fic don't worry I'm working on the new chapter and it'll hopefully be up as soon as possible)


End file.
